Friends, Always
by the little harlequin
Summary: Inspired by "A Very Potter Musical", Quirrell and Voldemort go on that rollerblading/movie date. Now includes two bonus chapters!
1. Maybe, we could go rollerblading

**OK, so, after watching "A Very Potter Musical" for about the umpteenth time, I was hit by a bolt of inspiration to write a fic about the Voldemort/Quirrell relationship. This is set after "A Very Potter Musical" and Voldemort is back on the back of Quirrell's head – just imagine that he was able to be reattached by a potion or a spell or something - because I feel that, judging by the end of AVPM when they go back-to-back and everything is right with the world again, Voldemort will reattch himself to the back of Quirrell's head because that's where he belongs! Anyways this is that rollerblading/movie date they said they would go on! Enjoy! xD**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, the characters are all the property of J.K. Rowling.**

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**Maybe, we could go rollerblading...**

Today was the day.

Today was the day that Quirrell, with, his best friend, Voldemort, who was, once again, attached to his soul, (and this attachment manifested by Voldemort's head protruding out from the back of Qurriell's own), went on the rollerblading/movie date he and said best friend had talked about making prior to the Dark Lord's rise to power… and then his subsequent downfall at the hands of Harry Potter. Quirrell sat down on the curb, strapping on the rollerblades as well as the elbow and knee protection they had rented from the nearby skate park supply shop, before he, with safety first at the forefront of his mind, unthinkingly put on the fluorescent yellow helmet and fastened it under his chin.

"Quirrell!! Take off your helmet!! I want to be able to see out as I fly past the inferior people!! I want to be able to watch them choke on the dust that is stirred up by the totally awesome speed at which I am going at!!" Voldemort's muffled, commanding screech came from under the helmet.

Quirrell was reluctant. Not because of the fact he had Voldemort's face on the back of his head, because many members of the Wizarding World were well aware of their situation and accepted it. They no longer saw Voldemort as a threat as long as he was merely a parasite on the back of Quirrell's head and it wasn't as though Voldemort was plotting to get his body back and attempt to take over the world again - the Dark Lord was more than content to remain the way he was.

"But, my Dark Lord, what if we fall over? We could injury ourselves if we don't wear a helmet," Quirrell pointed out validly.

"Well, just make sure you fall _face forward,_then!" Voldemort retorted, before his tone softened when he felt Quirrell mentally recoil at his harsh tone, "I'm sorry, Quirrell, I didn't meant to snap. It's just I've never been rollerblading… and I wish to be able to… visually experience something new as well as physically experience it…"

"Like when you had to be the one to see the end of_ 'She's All That'_?" Quirrell asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Yes, exactly like when I had to be the one to see the end of _'She's All That'_!" Voldemort replied, growing slightly irritated with his friend.

"Fair enough," Quirrell relented as he, reluctantly, removed the helmet, "but if we get injured, don't say I didn't warn you!"

"Yes, alright, alright!" Voldemort replied, gleeful that he had gotten his way, "Now, Quirrell!! Take me to that hot dog stand!! I'm famished!!" He cried, nodding in the direction of a hot dog vendor he stood, out of the way, by the fence of the skate park, ready to offer snacks to hungry rollerbladers and skateboarders.

"Just give me a moment to… steady… myself… my… liege," Quirrell said as he, clutching a nearby railing for support, got, unsteadily, to his feet.

"Quirrell! What have I told you?!" Voldemort demanded.

"I apologize my-- Voldemort…" Quirrell amended, as he edged along the railing, clearly unbalanced.

"Quirrell! You're going the wrong way!! The hot dog vendor is that way!!" Voldemort exclaimed, inclining his head awkwardly in the opposite way to which Quirrell was unsteadily inching, "Let go of the rails, Quirrell!"

"But, I must admit, I'm rather scared…" Quirrell confessed and, despite the fact that they were friends and Voldemort did genuinely care for his host, the Dark Lord felt himself rolling his eyes.

"Quirrrrrrreeellllll. Maaaaaannnn. Liiiiiisssssteennnn." Voldemort drawled, as he attempted to reassure Quirrell, "You're with me – the Darkest of Lords – now, you've nothing to be afraid of! I mean I am the scariest thing of the Wizarding World, am I right? I'm right, aren't I?"

"You are, Lord Voldemort," Quirrell assured, swallowing down his fear with a rather large gulp, before he took one hand from the railings, "Look, Voldemort, I'm doing it! Ha, I'm doing it!" He beamed ecstatically.

"Quirrell?"

"Yes?"

"We're not moving," Voldemort pointed out, with a heavy sigh, "And, are you still holding onto the rails with one hand?!" he gasped, his tone somewhat scandalized.

"Very well," Quirrell said, releasing his grip on the railing and, hesitantly, rolling forward, "Ha, this doesn't seem so hard..." the ex-Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher mused, with a slow, tentative smile spreading across his features.

However, it seemed that Quirrell had spoken too soon, because, as soon as he was out of reaching distance from the railing, and basically out in the open, poise seemed to fail him. His arms flailed around in an attempt to retain his balance, but his efforts proved, ultimately, futile as he fell backwards, the back of his head and, effectively, Voldemort hitting the pavement beneath them with a loud thud.

"Oh! Voldemort!" Quirrell cried, sitting up hastily, panic for the well-being of his friend stirred up inside him, "Are you alright, my Lord?!"

"I _told_ you, you should've worn the damn helmet!" Voldemort snapped as he emitted a low hiss of pain.

"Shall we just go to the movies now?" Quirrell suggested, in an attempt to salvage their day out.

Voldemort paused thoughtfully, thinking this proposition over carefully.

"Can we go see a Zefron movie?" Voldemort asked, finally, instantly hopeful.

"Of course, Voldemort," Quirrell beamed, happily, "Of course."

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**So, do you want to find out what's in store for Voldemort and Quirrell at the movies? Well, then, review! Because reviews inspire me to write and this is my first attempt at a Harry Potter fic and I would really appreciate the support! Quirrelmort fans must stick together (pun not intended)! Until next time! xD**


	2. and then, perhaps, go to the movies?

**Thanks for the hits everyone, but a big thank you has to go to XAPY-TZINY-IIOZEINTON-NOAT for the favourite and to Yvette Howels for the review and the favourite! You guys are awesome! Well, I hope you enjoy this chapter and look out for a cameo by another AVPM character *and* object! Ooh, the intrigue! xD**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. It's all J.K. Rowling's. **

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**...and then, perhaps, go to the movies?**

After their, frankly, disastrous attempt at rollerblading, Quirrell and Voldemort went on to the next thing on the agenda for their day out – the movies. So, after purchasing tickets to go see Zac Efron's latest film, _"17 Again" _(although Voldemort had already seen it, and said it was a little slow to begin with, he still insisted that it was an awesome movie that should be viewed over and over, and, thus refused to watch anything else), they took their seat in the theatre, with Quirrell, who hadn't seen the movie, facing the screen, for the moment, and then, throughout the film, they would switch so they each got to see equal amounts of the movie.

"Well, look at this, look at this," an arrogant chuckle reached their shared ears from the row behind them, as they waited for the movie to begin, "what do we have here?"

"Lucius Malloy's boy?" Voldemort shrieked, and, sure enough, seated behind them was Draco Malfoy, with the BOSS Zefron poster, which had once been one of Voldemort's horcruxes, seated beside him, it having been mended by a bit of tape which didn't detract from its awesomeness.

"Yes, it is I, Draco Malfoy, off to see one more movie in a theatre before I go off to attend Pigfarts, because there's no movie theatres on Mars, you know," Draco said, getting to his feet and drawing himself up to his full height in a vain attempt to look in important as he began to sing, "_Pigfarts, Pigfarts, here I come, Pigfarts, Pigfarts, yum, yum--_"

However, this failed epically, as someone in a theatre row further behind them threw a balled up piece of paper at Draco, while, simultaneously, demanding he sit back down, something which, with an offended pout, the platinum blond-haired wizard, reluctantly, did. His embarrassment was short-lived, however, as he shoved it to the back of his mind and worked on regaining the upper hand during this confrontation with his former boss.

"On a date, are we?" Draco sneered, one eyebrow cocked questioningly as he draped an arm around the Zefron poster.

"Are you, Draco, you little shit?" Voldemort hissed.

"As a matter of fact, I am," he said proudly, and Voldemort's slit-like eyes flickered to the Zefron poster instinctively and Draco snapped back his arm back, his eyes wide, "Not with the Zefron poster! My date is out getting snacks!" he invented wildly as the poster of Zac Efron just merely continued smiling, displaying his dazzling white teeth.

Voldemort chuckled evilly at Draco's shattered composure, and then proceeded to ignore him as Draco stroked the Zefron poster, in what looked like a consoling manner. Music started up, indicating that the film had begun, but Voldemort was now hungry and his hungry tummy irritated him.

"Quirrell!" he shrieked in the middle of the silent movie theatre, much to the annoyance of those around him, "Get more some popcorn!!" he commanded and the ex-Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher hastened to comply as he seized a fistful of popcorn and tried to drop it into the Dark Lord's waiting, open mouth.

Some of the popcorn reached their target, while others flew in all directions, "Ow, Quirrell - that was my eye!" Voldemort shrieked, when a piece of popcorn landed in his eye, the salt stinging his pupil, "And I told you to get sweet popcorn with extra butter, not this shit! Oh, great, now I'm thirsty! Quirrell get me some soda!!" Voldemort ranted, to a chorus of _'shhh'_s from the other members of the audience, "Oh, _shhhh_ yourselves!" he snapped.

Quirrell got the soda and guided the straw, which protruded from the paper cup, into the Dark Lord's mouth who sucked on it gratefully before he let a contented sigh escape his lips when he was done, "Much better!! I'm done with the soda now, Quirrell!! And lay off those Twinkies, Quirrell, we have a figure to be keeping if I am to remain attached to you!!"

"Yes, Voldemort," Quirrell complied.

"Look at Zefron! He's just so charismatic!! He would be a good Death Eater, I bet, he could win over his enemies with his charms and then crush them with his basketball!!" Voldemort mused loudly, prompting annoyed groans from those in the audience.

Suddenly, one of the attendants at the movie theatre approached them, shining the beam emitted from a flashlight in their faces, "Excuse me, but we have had some complaints," the attendant said, "and we're going to have to ask you to leave, OK?"

"What? No! No, that is not OK! Do you have any idea who I am? I'm Lord Voldemort!" Voldemort screeched, indignant.

"Lord who?" the attendant asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Never mind, you idiotic bastard," Voldemort spat.

"Well," Draco drawled from behind them, falling out of his seat and rolling around on the theatre floor, before he propped himself up on his elbow to face them, "isn't this amusing? Lord Voldemort is getting kicked out of a movie theatre! Ha! How the mighty hath fallen!" He sneered condescendingly, as he, like most of the current Wizarding World population, didn't fear Voldemort now that he was merely a parasite attached to someone's soul.

"Um, we're gonna have to ask you to leave too," the attendant said, shining the flashlight at Draco, "we have some reports that you were making out with that Zefron poster and it's disturbing some of the other members of the audience."

"Well!" Draco said, pulling himself to his feet and tucking the Zefron poster protectively under his arm, "Society today has really gone to the dogs. Thank God, I'm going to Pigfarts next year, I hear the people on Mars are a lot more _open-minded_!"

"Let's kill that attendant, Quirrell!" Voldemort suggested in a whisper, with a low, hissing chuckle.

"Now, now, Voldemort let's not cause a scene," Quirrell reprimanded lightly as, with a curt nod to the attendant, he left the movie theatre, Draco striding along after them, head held defiantly in the air.

When they exited the theatre, and Draco left them alone as he returned home with his Zefron poster, Voldemort heaved a deep sigh, "I guess we'll have to wait for the DVD, Quirrell… unless, maybe we could pirate copy the DVD!" The Dark Lord suddenly thought, an evil laugh ripping through his throat.

"Honestly, Voldemort, trust you to get us thrown out of a movie theatre!" Quirrell snapped, toeing the curb with his foot.

"Well," Voldemort retorted, offended, "if you weren't such a girl and stood up for us we would have been able to stay!"

"I am _not_ a girl!" Quirrell squeaked, indignantly, his voice rising two octaves, before in the heat of the moment he went onto exclaim, "You know, sometimes I wish you weren't back on the back of my head!"

Voldemort gasped before he fell into an angry silence. There was an awkward pause as the two of them refused to speak to the other, their brains reeling after their confrontation.

"Voldemort--" Quirrell started to say.

"Quirrell--" Voldemort spoke up.

"You first," Quirrell allowed.

"I'm sorry, Quirrell, for calling you a girl, if I hadn't have done you wouldn't have snapped," Voldemort admitted, and Quirrell felt a smile light up his features.

"I'm sorry too, Voldemort," he confessed, which made the beginnings of a smile tug on the corners of the Dark Lord's mouth, "Truth be told, I love having you back on the back of my head – I wouldn't have it any other way!"

"Nor would I, Quirrell," Voldemort said, before he let out a great yawn, "This day out has tired me greatly. Quirrell!! Take us home and ready us for bed!!"

"Of course, my Lord Voldemort," Quirrell complied instantly.

Yeah, they definitely wouldn't have it any other way.

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**So there was two of my favourite pairings from AVPM, Quirrelmort and Draco/Zefron poster! LOL! Please tell me what you thought of that chapter and the fic in general! And how can you do that? By reviewing, of course! All you gotta do is hit that little button at the bottom of the page. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Now, Quirrell! Get us ready for bed!

**Right, so I decided to write another chapter. Hope that's OK with y'all! Thanks for the reviews last chapter, IAmSTILLAngryWithLily (me too, me too, L/S forever and she has to go and ruin it by marrying James), meanja, Anonymous I Think, Queenie's Broken Heart and Yvette Howels – especially to Yvette Howels who gave me the prompt for this chapter, this one's for you (sorry about how short it is!)! xD**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Quirrell and Voldemort – they belong to J.K. Rowling and their bromance is the product of Team Starkid's "A Very Potter Musical."**

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**Now, Quirrell!! Get us ready for bed!!**

Voldemort and Quirrell Apparated from the outside of the movie theatre to their shared bedroom, (they had taken up residence in one of the rooms at the Leaky Cauldron), in the blink of an eye. Quirrell hastened to comply with the order Voldemort had given him at the movie theatre and hurried to get them ready for bed, even though it was only nine o'clock at night, but, then again, Voldemort did insist on having at least ten hours sleep every night – it made him less cranky and more tolerable the following day.

"Quirrell!! Remember to brush your teeth!!" Voldemort commanded; his intense desire for cleanliness shining through, this a trait that he seemed to reserve solely for Quirrell and which made their abnormal relationship take on a strangely domestic edge.

"But, Voldemort, I'm quite tired. Can't I just brush them extra thoroughly in the morning?" Quirrell said as he removed his travelling cloak and folded it into a neat pile before he placed it in the dresser, so as to please Voldemort.

"NO!! You go brush your teeth RIGHT NOW! I'm not sharing a body with someone who just allows plaque to fester on their teeth!!" Voldemort snapped, and Quirrell, stifling a yawn, reluctantly walked into the adjoining bathroom to obey the Dark Lord's order, not wanting another fight to occur between them.

As Quirrell moved his toothbrush up and down over his teeth to clean them, Voldemort continued his rant on the subject of good dental care, "You know who had _great _teeth?! What's-his-name, that spare guy who Potter brought with him to the graveyard, do you remember? The one we killed together."

"Yes, my Lord Voldemort," Quirrell replied, before he rinsed and spit, sweeping a hand across his mouth to wipe away any lingering remnants of toothpaste that may still be clinging there.

"Yes, I could see him finding some work as a teeth model if we hadn't killed him," Voldemort said with an almost wistful sigh, "too bad we did, because, with teeth like his, I bet he would've gone far in the world. I mean, he could have been the next Zefron!"

"Hm," Quirrell murmured, in agreement, as he plumped up his favourite goose feather pillow, before making a clearly disgusted noise when he discovered that it was slightly damp, "Voldemort, did you try to _eat _my _pillow_ last night?" he demanded and the Dark Lord's eyes grew wide and somewhat panicked as he remembered.

"Um… no," Voldemort lied badly, a nervous laugh accompanying the untruth.

"Voldemort?" Quirrell pressed, putting his hands on his hips, indicating that this was not the time to be playing games.

"Well, you rolled onto your back last night and I _told_ you what would happen if you did that, so you have no one to blame but yourself!" Voldemort retorted and Quirrell sighed deeply as he, picking up his wand from where it sat on the dresser, did a Drying Charm which rid the pillow of any remaining moisture, making it, once again, useable.

"I'll be sure to stay on my side tonight," Quirrell replied, as they got into bed and pulled the duvet up over their shared body.

"I'd appreciate that, Quirrell," Voldemort murmured in response as they both got comfortable sleeping on their sides, "Goodnight, Quirrell," the Dark Lord added softly – his gentle tone another thing that he reserved solely for Quirrell.

"Goodnight, Voldemort," Quirrell said, the smile that was playing on his features evident in his tone.

Silence presided over the two of them for a few minutes, as Quirrell instantly fell asleep while Voldemort, who had, previously, been the one who complained of being tired at the movie theatre, lay awake, his slit-like eyes darting about the room as he prayed for sleep to come. The Dark Lord felt a hesitant smile tug on the corners of his mouth as he regarded how tidy everything in the room was and he compared it with how messy Quirrell originally was, before Voldemort initially demanded he attach himself to the ex-Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher's soul. However, Voldemort's smile disappeared as quickly as if it had been hit with a powerful Vanishing charm, when his eyes settled on something that disturbed him greatly as it could lead to the destruction of one of the things he cared about most in the world and, without it, Voldemort's existence would become a lot less bearable.

"Hey, Quirrell," he snapped, rousing his other half from his slumber, "What is my '_She's All That'_ DVD doing OUT OF IT'S CASE?! It could get scratched!!"

"I'm sorry, Voldemort, it must have happened last night when we were watching '_Titanic' _and I must have forgotten to put '_She's All That' _back in its case when I took it out of the DVD player," Quirrell apologized sleepily; an argument such as, or along the same lines as this one common between them – it was hard to believe that when Voldemort attached himself to the ex-Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher's soul for the second time, Quirrell was worried that things would be entirely different between them and that the relationship they had forged would be lost, but so far things were shaping up to be just like old times.

"Well, you get up and put it away RIGHT THIS INSTANT!" Voldemort demanded, and Quirrell, groggily, got up out of bed, "I'm dong this for _our_ own good you know!" the Dark Lord added when Quirrell heaved a deep sigh, "We _both _love that movie!"

Ah, yes, it was definately just like old times.

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**Aw, I love writing those two now! At the beginning of this fic, I was so nervous about writing such an awesome relationship but now I adore writing Quirrelmort! And you know what makes writing this even more worthwhile? Reviews! Please, please, please review! And who knows if I get another prompt I just might write more of this little fic! Thanks for reading! xD**

**P.S. if any of you are wondering why people are so accepting of Voldemort being on the back of Quirrell's head then check back to chapter one as I have added an explanation for this fact in there. :)**


	4. Oh My Wizard God! It's Zefron!

**I received some inspiration in the middle of Maths and decided to write this little (hopefully funny!) ficlet. I know it has nothing to do with the rollerblading/movie date, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Many thanks to Yvette Howels, WiccanLoveTheEarth, gypsy rosalie, VampireWolf0131, Princess Ducky and beastchicky for the brilliant reviews. You people keep me writing! :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own "Harry Potter" or "A Very Potter Musical"**

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**Oh My Wizard God! It's Zefron!**

Two days after their disastrous rollerblading/movie date, Voldemort and Quirrell were walking around Muggle London, with Quirrell wearing his turban so as not to alarm any Muggles – only the Wizarding world were aware of and accepted "The Man With Two Faces" as part of society. As they were walking through the streets, Quirrell spotted a dense throng of people crowded around a large theatre which was only used for important events, such as movie premieres and the like. Sleek black cars were pulling up at the foot of a red carpet and famous people were emerging from them, greeting the crowd of people, made up of both screaming fans and reporters who fired questions at them relentlessly, with a small, polite wave.

Never having held much interest for celebrities, Quirrell walked on, only stopping when he heard a small gasp from Voldemort underneath his turban – the Dark Lord was clearly excited about something.

"What is it, Voldemort?" Quirrell asked, keeping his voice low so as not to attract any unwanted Muggle attention.

"Oh my wizard God!! It's Zefron!! He's nearby!! I can _smell_ him," Voldemort muttered ecstatically, taking another loud sniff, "He smells like Hugo Boss. It's simply heavenly."

"Are you drooling, my Lord Voldemort?" Quirrell questioned when he felt several drops of saliva dampen their shared shoulder.

"No, I most certainly am not!" Voldemort cried out, indignantly, his outburst earning Quirrell several confused and worried stares, while the ex-Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher attempted to look nonchalant, "I _must_ meet him," Voldemort added, in a quieter tone that rang with determination, "Quirrell let me be in the front," he demanded.

"But--"

"Oh, for Zefron's sakes!" Voldemort hissed, "Just do as you are told! I'll scream, I swear to Zefron, I will scream if you don't do as I command! Now, just go in that alleyway and switch this blasted turban around."

Not wishing to displease Lord Voldemort, Quirrell complied, albeit still with a measure of reluctance. They emerged from the alleyway a few minutes later, with Voldemort's face now visible and Quirrell's hidden under the cloth of the turban.

"We can now put our plan into motion, Quirrell," the Dark Lord said, chuckling evilly, all mirth leaving his tone however when he heard his friend mumble something and sneeze violently, "Oh, just be quiet!" then realising that he might have been too harsh, he added, in a gentler tone, "And, I'll be sure to stop by and get you some Nasonex on the way home if the turban's tickling your nose."

At that, Quirrell relented and stayed silent, leaving Voldemort to battle his way through a crowd of obsessive, screaming fans to get to Zefron, "Dark Lord coming through… yes, yes, yes, I am the Dark Lord let me through… Make way for the Dark Lord… I command you to let me through," he yelled, amongst other phrases, as he sidled and pushed and shoved and dodged and weaved his way through to the front of the sea of fans.

"Zefronnnnnnnnnn!!! Zefronnnnnnnnn!!" he screeched as Zac Efron made his way up the red carpet, pausing occasionally to pose for a picture with his fans or sign a few autographs.

"Yeah!! Zefron!! You are, like, totally awesome, man!!" a horribly familiar male voice prompted Voldemort to drag his eyes from Zefron to the fan who the Dark Lord was standing beside.

His characteristics made his identity undeniable. Curly, black hair fell over his brilliant green eyes and a guitar was strapped to his back. He was clad in full Hogwarts uniform, even though it was the summer and school wasn't in session, and he proudly wore a lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

"Harry Potter!" Voldemort shrieked in shock.

"Oh, yeah! Hey, Voldemort!" Harry said cheerfully, before returning his attention to Zefron, that is until his brain caught up with him and he did a double take, "Voldemort?! I thought we, like, killed you."

"Well," the Dark Lord replied, rolling his eyes, "_obviously _you didn't succeed."

"What?! We destroyed all the Horcruxes and then killed you! So how can you be still alive? What is this? A plot hole?" Harry asked, arching an eyebrow at him, questioningly.

"Shows what you know, Potter! 'Cause, what you _don't _know is that I had another Horcrux all along, something which neither you or I knew about, but which means the world to me!!" Voldemort cried, trailing off into a menacing chuckle.

"Well, what is it? An Ashley Tisdale poster?"

"No. You see, Quirrell, here," he paused, letting the ex-Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher make his presence known with a muffled 'Hi' from under the turban, "held a part of my soul in his heart because of our exceedingly close… special friendship."

Harry nodded understandingly.

"You don't get it, do you?" Voldemort pressed.

"Of course I get it, I am Harry Potter, after all," Harry snapped, with a smug grin when, in truth, he didn't comprehend any of what Voldemort had just said.

Their attention was drawn from one and other when they spotted Zefron strolling casually in their general direction and they hurried to make a lot of wild movements to attract his interest. It worked as, with an amused smile, he approached them.

"Now, I only have enough time to take one more photograph and sign one more autograph for one more fan," Zefron admitted, "So, which of you is it gonna be?"

Harry and Voldemort shared a look, before they both set about pushing each other out of the way, while each shouting comments to why Zefron should choose them over the other.

"I'm the Dark Lord!" Voldemort screeched, while shoving Harry out of the way.

"I'm Harry Potter!" Harry screamed, while pushing Voldemort aside.

"I put a bit of my soul in a poster of you!" Voldemort yelled, shunting Harry to the side forcefully.

"I'm a celebrity in the Wizarding world!" Harry cried, shoving Voldemort to the ground, "Do you have any idea what a picture of you _and_ me is worth? It'd make the front page!"

Zefron glanced over at his manager who tapped her watch impatiently, "Fine, Harry Potter, it is, then," the celebrity said, signing a copy of the _Quibbler_, that Harry thrust in his face, with a stylish flourish and posing for a quick picture with him before he disappeared into the theatre for the premiere that he was attending.

"Ha, ha, Voldemort, looks like I beat you again!" Harry laughed, showing off his camera and autographed _Quibbler_ to the Dark Lordbefore he disappeared into the crowd.

Voldemort picked himself up off the ground and, after quickly brushing off the dirt and grit that clung to his robes, shoved his way back through the throng of people that were quickly dispersing now that there were no more celebrities to see.

"That blasted Harry Potter!!" the Dark Lord hissed angrily as he flicked a piece of dirt from the sleeve of his and Quirrell's shared robes.

"Didn't go well, I take it?" Quirrell asked, a hint of a smile clear in his tone.

"No, it did not, Quirrell!"

"Anything I can do to make you feel better?"

Voldemort considered this for awhile before he said finally, "Do you still have that Fire Whisky from Christmas?"

"Yes… I think so."

"Well…" Voldemort said, drawing out the word, "I say we get drunk on that and figure out ways to kill Harry Potter – because he must pay for his actions today - and kidnap Zefron, agreed?"

"Agreed." Quirrell complied.

Anything to please the Dark Lord…

… and his best friend.

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**^^^ So, a guest appearance from both Zefron and Harry Potter and I've only got one thing to ask: what did you all think of it? Funny, unfunny? Good, bad? Please tell me in a review because I absolutely adore feedback!! Until inspiration hits again!! xD**


	5. Red Vines!

**Wow, it's been 6 months since I last wrote for my beloved Quirellmort.**

**So, without further ado, I would like to say a big thank you to everyone who reviewed within that 6 months: Yvette Howels, gypsy rosalie, Princess Ducky, AfraidOfFalling, mybutterflyshavesocksonthem, myprofoundfantasy, Xena-Chan, ratti, kd1190, juniperwing, bjaarcy, a particularly good finder, LozzT-In-Time, pEaCe17, Totallystarstruck, jenbeecreativity, GGCRAZYLOVER14, Aquahina, hollibella-short, samantha, luvs2dance, Giraffe Dinosaur, yourdorkisabel, fred637, StuckInTheTardis, emerald-abyss, Treeni, Princess P. Omassis and beth. **

**YOU ARE ALL TOTALLY AWESOME! XD**

**Disclaimer: I don't own A Very Potter Musical or Harry Potter. **

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**Red Vines!**

It was a surprisingly hot afternoon in August; the bright, brilliant sun blazed down on London, basking Voldemort and Quirrell in a sweltering heat as they, in their shared body, strolled down the streets of Diagon Alley. Judging by the way the sun dominated the centre of the sky, it was around lunchtime and, upon realizing this, their stomach growled loudly, desperate for food to fill it.

"Quirrell!" Voldemort cried when he felt their stomach rumble, "I'm hungry!"

"Yes, I know, my Lord Voldemort," Quirrell replied, "We do share a body, after all."

"Well, get us something to eat then!" he raised his voice to a demanding screech, his tone lined with an edge of frustration at his friend for not coming to this conclusion sooner; there was a long pause as Voldemort delved into a moment of contemplation, "I'm in the mood for Thai food!" he exclaimed finally, grinning ecstatically at the idea.

Quirrell made a small, reluctant noise that sounded almost like a fearful whimper, "But, Voldemort, you know I can't eat Thai food," he said, his tone anxious, yet somewhat annoyed with his best friend for not remembering such an important thing about him; he lowered his voice to a self-conscious whisper, "It's too spicy, it gives me dietary problems."

"So what if it gives you dietary problems!" Voldemort cried, attracting Quirrell some amused and bemused looks from passing witches and wizards who were out doing their shopping that afternoon, "I want Thai food! So, you're just gonna have to suck it up and stop acting like such a girl, Quirrell!"

"How about a hamburger? We both like hamburgers," Quirrell ventured hopefully, with a small, appeasing smile playing on his lips, wondering where the closest McDonald's was, but Voldemort only made a disgusted noise in response – although he did enjoy a good hamburger, he was in the mood for Thai food, not McDonald's.

However, despite Voldemort's less than enthusiastic reply to the suggestion, Quirrell had - quite defiantly - set off in a direction that deliberately led them away from where they both knew the nearest Thai food restaurant to be. Voldemort quickly realized this and mustered up all the strength he had inside his parasitic form in an attempt to literally _pull_ Quirrell in the opposite direction. Much to his dismay, though, that tactic failed epically, which prompted him to try a different approach altogether – a more verbal one. He decided to start screaming protests at the top of his lungs until Quirrell, maddened by the noise, finally relented. Yes, it may have seemed somewhat childish or something Harry freakin' Potter would do, but ultimately desperate times called for desperate measures.

Quirrell waited until Voldemort paused in his vehement screaming - even the Dark Lord needed oxygen - before the ex-Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher prepared to inform his friend that he still refused to let him have his way. But just as he was about to argue his point further, in a desperate attempt to not have to eat Thai food and subsequently spend the rest of the day in the bathroom as a result of his dietary problems, the two of them heard a heated conversation taking place nearby.

They both felt an instinctual prick of intrigue as they vaguely recognized the voices yelling at one and other, but neither Voldemort nor Quirrell could match the voices with faces in their individual minds. So, with their hunger and dispute momentarily forgotten and curiosity motivating them, they followed the voices and quickly stumbled into the midst of the argument they had heard to see that it was taking place between a boy and a girl. The girl had long, bushy brown hair, oversized front teeth and bore a strong resemblance to a grotesque night troll Quirrell had once come across in his travels before he had met Voldemort. The boy, on the other hand, had ginger hair and was sporting a blue headband and an exasperated expression, a packet of what looked to be Red Vines clasped tightly – almost protectively – in his hand.

"Favourite Aimee Mann song?" Ron Weasley asked, through gritted teeth, clearly agitated with his female companion.

"Um… Pavlov's Bell," Hermione Granger replied, with an almost triumphant smile gracing her features as she looked up at Ron hopefully.

"Wrong again, Hermione. I mean, come on, I thought you were smart," Ron said, irritated, putting a hand over his eyes in what looked to be an outward sign of his embarrassment, "OK, favourite colour of vines other than green?" he looked at her expectantly, even going as far as to pointedly chew on one of the Red Vines from the packet he was holding in order to offer her a major clue.

However, the clue was lost on Hermione, who promptly answered, "Blue vines."

Ron was aghast, "Blue vines? Where the hell did you get _blue vines_ from?"

"In some tropical climates, there are-" she began intellectually, but Ron waved a dismissive hand, cutting her off before she had a chance to truly explain her answer.

"We'll try another one," he said, heaving a deep sigh, "Favourite way to say '_red wines_' in a German accent?"

"But I don't speak German," Hermione replied, crestfallen.

"You don't need to!" Ron exclaimed exasperatedly, holding up the packet of candy he held in his hand, "The answer to all three is Red Vines and I'm sorry Hermione but if you can't get that…" Ron trailed off meaningfully, "You know, sometimes I wish Harry was my girlfriend instead of you," he remarked reluctantly and Hermione raised a shaky hand to her mouth, clearly upset.

"Well- well, you're just being a- a- a _great big baby-faced jerk_!" Hermione screamed back at him, her cheeks glowing crimson with rage, although she clamped a hand over her mouth when she realized what, in her uncontrollable anger, she had cried out; Ron took several steps backwards, away from her, shaking his head vehemently and jabbing a furious finger at her.

"Hey! _Hey!_ I am _nothing _like that little shit, Draco Malfoy," Ron exclaimed, "I'm sorry, Hermione, I just- I just can't look at you right now," he said, sliding his gaze downwards to stare at the cobblestone street of Diagon Alley and placing a hand to the side of his face, shielding his eyes, so he wouldn't be at risk of stealing a sideways glance at her as he marched off pointedly.

"Oh! Ron!" Hermione cried after him, her lower lip trembling as she looked as though she were on the verge of tears, but was desperately trying to fight them back.

She made a little upset whimpering sound, before promptly racing after his retreating form, fervently calling apologies to him. Quirrell and Voldemort watched the scene with identical expressions of bewilderment.

"Let's never, ever fight about something as trivial as food ever again!" Quirrell piped up after several moments of silence, inspired by the argument between Ron and Hermione to make amends with his own friend, "Agreed, Voldemort?"

There was a pause as Voldemort thought this over, "Agreed, Quirrell," he said at last, a small smile tugging on the corners of his lips, "I don't think I could ever stand to lose you. Especially over something as silly as food! How about we go get that hamburger?"

"That sounds totally awesome, my Lord Voldemort," Quirrell replied, grinning, before he threw his arms around himself and engulfed his best friend in a hug.

Voldemort's smile grew wider as he melted into the friendly gesture. Then, he noticed something that perplexed him greatly.

"Hey!" Voldemort screeched suddenly, his brow crinkled down a fraction in confusion, as he stared at something further down the cobblestone street, "I thought those two were fighting!"

"Huh, so did I," Quirrell agreed, his eyes widening in surprise when he inclined his gaze over his shoulder to see what Voldemort was looking at.

Ron and Hermione had apparently put their differences aside and were now embracing each other fervently while locked in a passionate kiss. As they broke apart, Ron dropped a further, tender kiss onto her bushy head of hair and the two walked off down the street, his arm draped around her shoulders, each of them chewing on a Red Vine.

"Favourite Aimee Mann song?" Voldemort and Quirrell distantly heard Ron ask his girlfriend again.

"Blue Vines," they heard Hermione reply confidently and, although her back was to them, the triumphant grin was clear in her tone.

"Close," Ron said, "but we still have _a lot_ of work to do."

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**So, what did you think? A guest appearance from Ron, Hermione and Red Vines! xD Keep being totally awesome, guys! Until next time! :)**


	6. I Finally Caught Harry Freakin' Potter!

**As always, you guys are awesome. Many thanks for the reviews, Princess Ducky, TotallyStarstruck, YvetteHowels, Dr Hook's Towing and Co, arenothuman, aquacrazy77, LaurenIsCool, toavoidconversation, JigokuYume, Dragon Soarer, anon, YukiKyoMomiji, A non name, mistofan, MRlover2000 and ugala5777. You are all fabulous. =D**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or A Very Potter Musical.**

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"I did it!" Voldemort cackled maniacally, as Quirrell threw open the door to their room in the Leaky Cauldron, "I finally did it! I finally caught Harry freakin' Potter!" His triumphant screech trailed off into yet another insane laugh (that he had spent the past several days perfecting while they finalized their plans to kidnap the Boy Who Lived or, as Voldemort called him, the Giant Pain in the Ass).

"_We_ did it, my Lord Voldemort," Quirrell corrected him, as, accompanied with numerous grunts of exertion, he pulled a thrashing sack into their room and locked the door behind them, throwing the room key down on a table amongst several empty bottles of Firewhisky and Butterbeer.

"Yes, yes, yes," Voldemort mumbled, dismissively, "Quirrell! Open up another bottle of Firewhisky. I want to celebrate."

Quirrell abandoned the still kicking sack in the middle of the floor and went to the mini bar. Voldemort grinned devilishly as they unscrewed the lid of another bottle, knowing that it wouldn't be them who received the bill for their room, who would have to pay for all their Firewhisky as well as the array of Cauldron Cakes, Pumpkin Pasties and Chocolate Frogs they got sent up every night for their midnight feasts. They had - quite evilly - stolen Lucius Malfoy's credit card and now all their indulgances would be care of him. Well, he did always harp on about being the most faithful Death Eater - it was high time he showed just how loyal he was to his Dark Lord.

Quirrell took a long drink from the Firewhisky and then proceeded to pour some into Voldemort's mouth. The Dark Lord gagged and coughed, "Quirrell! Little doses. It's hot and it hurts my mouth," he said, in a much meeker voice than usual as he waited for the burning sensation in his throat to ease.

When it finally cooled, he returned his attention to the bag. The thrashing had subsided somewhat as the occupant grew too tired to struggle and the calls of help were sufficiently muffled by the thick material of the sack, "Now Quirrell! Open the bag," Voldemort commanded, his voice rising dramatically on the last word.

"Hmf?" Quirrell said, having not heard him as he concentrated on taking another slug of Firewhisky.

"The sack, Quirrell, open the fucking sack," Voldemort urged him, an exasperated sigh escaping his lips.

"Oh!" Quirrel leaned forward and opened the sack, as instructed.

A masculine figure leapt from it, gasping for air, "I thought I told you to put air holes in it," Voldemort berated him, slit-like nostrils flaring - if he had missed his chance to kill Harry Potter himself because his prey had suffocated due to Quirrell's incompetence, then the ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher would... well, he'd have been in very big trouble, that's for sure!

"Well, Voldemort, we were drinking quite a lot of Firewhisky when we were planning this little... _escapade_," Quirrell pointed out.

"Ah, yes, and we got that stripper. Oh, Mandy," Voldemort remembered, with a fond laugh, "Did you keep her number? We should get her again for tonight, you know as celebratory thing."

"I think it's around here somewhere," Quirrell murmured thoughtfully, glancing around the room searchingly.

"Um, hello? I'm kind of kidnapped over here!" came a voice - a very un-Harry-Potter-ish voice.

Their eyes met that of Neville Longbottom who, having gulped in enough air to fill his lungs, was now on his feet and brushing his Hogwarts robes free of any dust - seriously did these students _live _in their uniforms or something? Voldemort let out an inhumane screech of disappointment, nostrils flaring dangerously again.

"Oh, my Wizard God. You got _Schlongbottom_!" Voldemort yelled, resisting the urge to cry angry, disappointed tears - he had been this close - _this close _- to murdering Harry Potter. And what had he got instead? _Schlongbottom_. It just wasn't fair!

"_Me_?" Quirrel said, affronted, shaking his head vigorously, "What happened to '_I_ did it! _I_ did it!'" he demanded, raising his hands in the air to form quotation marks where appropriate.

"This is the worst day of my life!" Voldemort groaned, feeling a migraine coming on.

"Even worse than when you lost all your powers and were rendered nothing more than a parasite?" Quirrell asked.

"Yes, even worse than that!" Voldemort cried, his voice cracking and he could feel the disappointed tears becoming even harder to fight.

"Uh, guys, still here," Neville piped up, holding up a hand in a hope to draw his captors attention back to him.

"Yes, we know!" Voldemort wailed.

Silence reigned for a few agonizingly long moments in which Neville and Quirrell exchanged awkward glances, both pretending not to notice that Voldemort had lost his battle and was now crying openly. Eventually, the crying subsided and Voldemort gave several teary sniffs before he heaved a deep sigh.

"All right?" Quirrell asked him, tentatively.

"I'm... I'm cool," Voldemort murmured back to him, once he had composed himself, "I'm cool. Quirrell? Turn me round to face the boy," Quirrell did as he was asked and the Dark Lord then raised his voice and allowed it take on an authoratative edge as he spoke directly to Neville, "So, Schlongbottom, you're a pureblood?"

"Y-Yes," Neville replied, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"You ever thought of, you know, joining the Death Eaters?" Voldemort asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Um... I feel like I'm supposed to say something like 'I'll join you when hell freezes over' but, um..." he trailed off indecisively, nervously toeing the floor with his sneakered foot.

"We have a great dental plan!" Voldemort interjected, nodding encouragingly at Neville, his eyes very bright and very wide.

"Um, well," Neville shrugged, "OK, then."

"Excellent! Quirrell! We have a new member," Voldemort cried jubilantly, "looks like we do have something to celebrate after all. Call Mandy!"

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**So, what did you think? As always, reviews are loved. =3**


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